The Babe With the Power
by ll.again
Summary: The King changes his favorite punishment from bogging to babysitting. It is turning out to be far more effective. A story of the Goblin King, his Queen, and their holy terror of a Crown Princess. Sequel-ish to Forever.


**The Babe with the Power**

Disclaimer: Labyrinth is owned by someone that is certainly not me.

A/N: This is tangentially related to my fic 'Forever', but there should be no need to read it to follow along. The tone of this piece is entirely different, so if you are going from one to the other, consider yourself warned.

I expect there will be another chapter to account for the lack of toddlers wreaking havoc in this fic. Jareth+childrens is a thing that needs to happen more often, and I got a teensy bit distracted by other things.

I'm not super happy with this one, so I'd especially love to hear your comments.

* * *

On the fourteenth week of the Goblin Queen's latest pregnancy, the King gets absolutely shit-faced.

"Sarah!" he yells, bursting into their bedchamber at one o'clock in the morning. He stumbles (gracefully, he _is_ the Goblin King) across the room, plows into the bedpost, and slumps against it, hanging on as if it's the only thing holding him up. "Sarah," he says again, just a little quieter.

The Queen, bleary eyed from her rude awakening, sits up slowly, dark hair falling around her in waves. She takes a long look at her husband, eyes widening and quickly narrowing when she catches the smell of alcohol.

"I love you," Jareth says, endearingly earnest. Then he promptly passes out.

Sarah peers over the edge of the bed at her drooling King and laughs and laughs and laughs. After several minutes, when she can breathe again, she climbs off the bed and prods her husband a few times in the shoulder with her toes.

She is considering prodding him in the face when he finally opens his eyes. "Welcome back, my Lord," she says in that dry, dangerous tone that she's stolen from him. "Will you be pouring yourself into bed, or were you planning on sleeping on the floor?"

Jareth grins at her, not at all intimidated. Even in his drunken state, he can tell that she's not really upset. And he's seen her mad at him enough times to know. The grin slips off his face, and he manages to sit up. The Queen leaves him to struggle, partially because he deserves it, but mostly because bending over and lifting heavy objects are two of the many things she's avoiding.

For a moment, the King is convinced they should be dancing because somehow they've been transported to the crystal ballroom. Then his head stops spinning and he realizes this is still their bedchamber. There's a part of him that wants to dance anyway but concedes that it might be difficult when he can't even stand up.

He leans heavily against the bed and rolls his head to look at her, lips curved in a smile. It's not like his usual smiles, a little wicked and dangerous. This smile seems to have wandered in on its own and just plopped down and make itself comfortable. Any residual annoyance that Sarah felt about her rude awakening melts away at the sight of that smile.

She won't tell him that, of course. The King would walk all over her if he knew he had such a weapon in his arsenal. What she doesn't realize is that she has a similar weapon of her own that Jareth is not telling her about.

He reaches up and she catches his hand, steps closer when he tugs on her arm. "We made it," he says in a whisper. She's not sure he meant to say it aloud.

Sarah's heart clenches so tightly that she feels it in her whole chest. She wants more than anything to have the hope that's threaded in her husband's voice, but even those persistent vines can't crack the stone walls she's built. Too many times has she carried a little spark, spoke to it, sang to it, loved it and cared for it in every way that she knew. Then lost it for no reason at all.

This child, she speaks to and sings to and cares for, but she cannot love it. There is only a hollow space where there should be a hook and a cord to attach to her spark. So she waits, counts the days, goes on as before. But she does not expect.

There are no words for this. Instead, she only says, "We?"

"I helped," Jareth informs her.

She scoffs, but privately admits he has a point. Her husband has hope enough for the both of them. Hope, and fear. The whole kingdom has been tense, waiting to see if the seventh time really is the charm. But none more so than the King.

For her he has been only smiles and kisses. Cups of tea for her stomach and crystal tricks for her boredom while she's confined to bed rest. The rest of his subjects get the irritation and hair-trigger temper that had been part of the strain between them before.

In light of that, she supposes that she can forgive him one night of letting go. He'll have punishment enough in the morning, without any assistance from her.

She squeaks when he leans towards her and wraps his arms around her thighs. He lays his head on her hip, just by the bump that's only starting to show, and turns his face to kiss her stomach. She softens and slides her fingers in his hair. He lays one hand on her belly, fingers splayed out, and relaxes into her, closing his eyes.

Sarah rolls her eyes upwards, pleading for patience. "Jareth," she says, practicing her 'mom' voice. "What are you doing?"

"Shh," he murmurs. "'M talking to the baby."

She knows that's what he's trying to do, but the familiar curl of magic is, at the moment, in a place that is most decidedly not her womb. "Jareth, love," she says. "I think you're trying to talk to my spleen."

The King makes a mildly offended noise, but the curl of magic disappears. Whether he'd actually heard her, or is just too drunk to continue, she isn't sure.

She kneels down, sliding easily within the circle of his arms. His head falls into the crook of her shoulder, and she puts an arm around his waist. "I'm not helping you up, you drunken sod," she says affectionately. "If you can't stand on your own, I really will leave you to sleep on the floor."

"Do I get a pillow?" he says against her skin.

She shivers in response and can feel his answering smile. "Not a chance."

"My cruel Sarah," the King says, finally lifting his head.

"You know you like it."

"I do." He moves to kiss her but only catches the corner of her mouth, and that alone tells her how drunk he really is.

"Jesus, Jareth," she says with a hint of a laugh. He slumps against her and she finds herself helping him upright despite her earlier intentions. "What have you been drinking?"

His brow furrows in thought and his wife has to swallow another laugh. "Dunno. Higlemus had something and there was toasting. Lots of toasts."

It is Sarah's turn to frown thoughtfully. "Who's Higle- wait. Hoggle? Or was it Didymus?"

"Yes." Jareth is looking at her with that smile again, and Sarah thinks that maybe it is all worth it.

She still leaves him to sleep on the floor, but, because she is feeling extra generous, she grants him a pillow _and_ a blanket.

...

When the Queen goes into labor, she insults an ambassador in the middle of a very delicate trade negotiation, nearly breaks Hoggle's hand, and commits treason.

"I don't care if it starts a Underground-wide war, Hoggle," Sarah says through gritted teeth. The old dwarf eyes her nervously as he helps her circle the room and doesn't dare mention how tight a grip she has on his hand. "You go down there, tell the Ambassador he and his treaty can suck it, and get that rat _bastard_ back up here so _I can kill him_."

The midwife directs her to sit down for a bit, and as soon as she loosens her grip, Hoggle makes a run for it.

"Suck what?" the King wants to know when Hoggle relays the message. Hoggle isn't actually sure.

Jareth doesn't actually want to be in the negotiation room. But Sarah has been in labor for _hours_, and the midwife has kicked him out of the room. He'd obeyed to keep the peace for his wife's sake, but he is certain that he is not 'smothering', no matter what that wretched woman says. He is, however, genuinely terrified that something will go wrong. There are so many things that can. By now, Jareth knows them all.

He spends all of twenty minutes pacing the hallway outside the Queen's chambers before deciding that even listening to the ambassador and his chancellor argue over the proper spelling of 'colour' is better than helplessly wondering what is going on behind that solid oak door. And now that he is here, the diplomatic course of action would be to stick around for a while and, perhaps, even look interested in the proceedings.

But his decision is made the moment Hoggle peeks into the room. Jareth swings his legs off the table and stands, pausing only to address his chancellor. "Amon, let the Ambassador spell however he wants, and do try to finish this negotiation sometime in the next century."

As he sweeps out of the room, he can hear his advisers babbling apologies. Jareth doesn't care. If his behavior starts a war, then so be it. He has more important things to worry about.

...

When the King first lays eyes on his child, he declares a week of feasting, grants pardons to the five goblins and chicken who are responsible for the Chocolate Pudding Fiasco, and discreetly wipes away a few tears. He is also generous enough to absolve the Queen of her treasonous threats to his person.

"Never. Again," Sarah says once she and the baby are settled on the bed. She is sweaty and pale and has huge dark circles under her eyes and Jareth thinks that she's the second most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

He climbs up next to her, and she's too preoccupied with the nursing infant to scold him for putting his boots on the coverlet. Jareth drapes an arm around his wife's shoulders, careful not to disturb the babe, and just watches, content for the first time in nine months. No, longer than that. For the first time since Sarah's second miscarriage.

"Thank you," he murmurs into her ear and brushes a kiss on her temple. "Precious thing."

Sarah turns her head to look at him and a slow smile blooms over her face. She starts to say something but is immediately distracted. "Oh," she says in wonder, attention directed to the babe, who seems to have dozed off. "I think... she's done?"

The midwife, still cleaning up at the other side of the room, hears the uncertainty in the Queen's voice and comes over. "Looks like," she says after a quick peek, not quite succeeding at hiding her smile while she helps position the baby to be burped. "She'll be hungry again quicker than you'd think."

Sarah spares the woman a smile of thanks, but Jareth pays her no mind. His eyes are pinned on the swaddled bundle and he reaches out to trace a finger over the curve of that tiny ear. His gloves have long since been discarded - giving birth, the King has learned, is a messy business - and Sarah frowns at the bruising on his knuckles.

"What happened to your hand?" she says.

He lifts it up to look and laughs softly. "My wife decided to practice her drumming technique with my hand and the arm of the birthing chair."

He doesn't have to look at her to know she's blushing. "I don't remember that," she replies, a little contrite, but not _quite_ apologetic.

"It was sometime between 'I'm going to gut you with a spoon, Jareth' and 'piece of cake? piece of cake! I'll give you a piece of cake, right to the kisser'," he says, reciting her lines in a falsetto that doesn't actually sound anything like her.

"Yeah, well," Sarah says, embarrassed now. "In the Aboveground, we have these lovely things called epidurals. And don't even pretend that you didn't deserve it. 'Piece of cake', indeed."

Jareth ignores any insinuation that he might have said something ill-advised while his wife was in labor. He is also perfectly content to let her beat any of his appendages against a hard surface as much as she likes, if this precious little thing is what comes of it.

"You know very well why you couldn't give birth Aboveground," he says.

She sighs and shifts so she's pressed a little closer to him. "I know."

He turns her face to his and kisses her gently. "My beautiful, perfect, amazing wife," he murmurs in between kisses. Pulling back so he can look at her with a mischievous twinkle, he says, "Give me the child?"

She rolls her eyes, but says, "Very well. Goblin King, take this child of mine." Then, as Jareth takes the babe, "But not too far away, you'll be bringing her back soon enough."

"Yes," he says, not at all paying attention. He cradles the little girl as if she's made of delicate crystal and precious stones worth more than all the riches in the Underground, which she is, on both counts.

"She has my eyes," the King says, smug.

He takes the babe to the window and shows her the wide spread of the Labyrinth. "See that?" he tells her. "That's the Labyrinth, and someday it will be all yours." The baby blinks up at him, and the Goblin King, who is no stranger to babies, has never been more captivated.

"You know," he says silkily, barely taking his eyes off his child while he returns to the bed. "I hear that the second one is much easier."

The rush of excitement has faded and fatigue is starting to settle in, but Sarah's eyes shoot open, and she glares at her husband. "No," she says firmly. "This is the last one."

"Hmm," the King replies as he sits down. "If you say so."

Jareth never concedes anything, so it's not much of a leap for his wife to realize he's up to something. "Swear to me this is the last one."

Very reluctantly, he lays the babe on her mother's chest and draws the blanket over both of them. "I will not," he says, heavily amused. "You'll change your mind in a few years, and then you'll be sorry I did."

She wants to say something tart and cutting in response to his smug confidence, but a wide yawn interrupts her. The King draws the back of his finger over his Queen's cheek, a glittering, breathtaking look in his eyes. "Go to sleep, love," he says, speaking to them both. "You've earned it."

He sits where he can watch over his family and still see out the window at his kingdom. Below, he can hear the sounds of revelry as his subjects celebrate the birth of their Crown Princess. Though he's in a celebratory mood himself, Jareth knows better than to join them. If he comes back to their chambers intoxicated, again, he fears his wife will do worse than letting him sleep on the floor. She does have that sort of power over him. The King has found that he doesn't particularly mind.

With a cat-who-got-the-cream smile, Jareth settles back against the headboard and hums a lullaby.

* * *

Notes:

1) Drunk Jareth is also a thing that needs to happen more often.

2) Apparently human gestation lasts 38 weeks and the last week of the first trimester is actually the 13th week, not the 12th. Risk of miscarriage drops significantly in the second trimester.

3) The Chocolate Pudding Fiasco, according to the definitive anthology of goblin history Things That Happened, began when five goblins were sent Above to acquire jelly donuts and Bacos for the Queen. They also came back with approximately 274 boxes of instant jello pudding (not actually all chocolate) and proceeded to fill the pit in the throne room. Shortly thereafter, someone who may or may not have been a royal personage (the text is very vague here) may or may not have tripped over a chicken in a rare moment of inattention and landed face first in the pit full of pudding.

The five goblins responsible were sentenced to the Bog, but were in prison awaiting an appeal, as they claimed the pudding had cushioned the fall and prevented injury, and therefore they deserved some leniency. The chicken was sentenced to Sunday lunch, and its pardon was posthumous. The incident is particularly notable as it is the only known pardon issued by King Jareth.

4) A birthing chair is used to keep a laboring woman upright during delivery, cause, you know, gravity is useful. Their use dates back to antiquity and they have been found in varying forms all over the world. They fell out of favor when deliveries moved into the realm of modern medicine and the (male) physicians decided that having the lady on her back was more convenient (for them, not the lady).

5) I realize that the whole 'woman in labor beating on/threatening hubby' thing is overdone, but I just couldn't resist. Also, Jareth totally deserves it.


End file.
